


Tease Me

by nipsynips



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Control, Fluff and Smut, John loves him for it, M/M, Paul is a coy tease and he knows it, and wants more of it, how did this happen, just a little bit of control and dominance play, no spanking or aggressive bdsm sex here i assure you, there you go, this is so long and i don't know WHY, this wasn't supposed to have a plot initially but
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-19
Updated: 2018-10-19
Packaged: 2019-08-04 12:07:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16346447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nipsynips/pseuds/nipsynips
Summary: His bandmates had always called him the ‘kinky’ one, but they had always assumed it was him doing the tying and the holding down and the commanding. True enough, that was often the case, especially with birds, but it wasn’t his preference. In fact, contrary to what most people thought, John relished the chance to relinquish control every once in a while.





	Tease Me

**Author's Note:**

> This was written to the tune of "Tease Me" by Treat Her Right. You can imagine why.
> 
> I'm not sure how this ended up...this long...but it was an idea that had been in my head well before any of the other fics I've shared on here so! I hope you can excuse the delay on Powder Blue Chapter 3 (which I AM working on) and I hope you all enjoy this...whatever it is. Thanks.

It had started out as simple curiosity.  
  
The girls who tended to go for him were soft, feminine _;_ desperate for a hard fuck by someone stronger and bulkier than them. John was usually only too happy to oblige. He would relish the moans as he pinned their hands to the headboard of his bed, he would groan all animalistic-like as they shivered beneath him, and he would whisper the dirtiest obscenities he knew as he used the rough pads of his fingers to get them off.  
  
John knew his appeal. He was for the girls who didn’t want to settle for the _cute_ one, or the _quiet_ one, or the _nice_ one, and most of the time, that was enough. He knew that his rough exterior invited a certain kind of attention and he accepted that.  
  
However, there remained a small niggling in his brain, and a niggling it would remain - until Stu, that is.  
  
Stu was his first equal, the first boy who had ever made his stomach curl with desire. His face seemed perfectly sculpted to be admired, to be kissed. He had sharp features and a bright, inquisitive mind that John found irresistible both as a mate and as a potential _mate._ He wanted to give him everything.  
  
It was late at night following one of their heart-to-hearts when it finally happened. They were up on the roof, crying and drinking. John couldn’t remember when the tears had stopped and the kissing began, but _god,_ he remembered watching the dark head of hair bobbing up and down between his thighs. He remembered the thin fingers crooked up inside of him as he thrusted upwards into the tight heat of his mouth; moaning for it, begging for him to go faster, to go harder. He remembered biting down on his fist as Stu’s clever tongue and fingers reduced him to a goddamned mess. He remembered the turning point of his self-control, the sharp intake of breath when Stu had asked him - no, _commanded_ him - to come.  
  
He was insatiable afterwards. His bandmates had always called him the ‘kinky’ one, but they had always assumed it was him doing the tying and the holding down and the commanding. True enough, that _was_ often the case, especially with birds, but it wasn’t his preference. In fact, contrary to what most people thought, John relished the chance to relinquish control every once in a while. He _needed_ it, even, but he couldn’t and wouldn’t do it with someone he didn’t trust. Anonymous fucks with girls were all fine and good with him, and he didn’t mind being tied down by someone he’d never see again, but he didn’t dare broach the subject with Cynthia. He knew she wouldn’t understand and, furthermore, he knew she wouldn’t like it.  
  
When it came to male partners, however, John wanted something a bit more stimulating. He didn’t just want to be tied down or bossed around by some stranger; he wanted them to be mentally stimulating, too, and he needed to _know_ them. He knew at the back of his mind that he was just trying to replicate the one and only time he had with Stu, but it didn’t change anything. He also knew that he would probably never have an experience like that ever again, though it didn’t stop him from trying.  
  
And then Paul happened.  
  
Paul with his coy smiles and his fluttering eyelashes; _Paul_ with his firm thighs and plush lips and sharp tongue. He was born a filthy tease, Paul was, and his added wit and musical virtuosity did more for John than any beautiful man or woman ever could. If Stu was fire, Paul was a fucking explosion that left no survivors.  
  
It was hell sitting in such close proximity to him day in and day out, even more-so when he pitched his voice low like a fucking crooner. And then, when John was at his most desperate, Paul would purposefully drag out their recording sessions for as long as possible. Oh, he was so _dedicated_ when he made them all stay late to ‘go over a few more lines,’ he was so _polite_ when he stayed to chat with every single bird waiting at the gates of the studio.  
  
He _knew_ what he was doing _,_ the bastard.  
  
Those days would often end in John pressing him down first, licking at his lips and sucking at his tongue until Paul was a quivering mess. He’d mark the pale expanse of his neck with his teeth, biting until he drew blood and could hear the small hitches of Paul’s breath as he tried to keep himself from moaning. He’d desperately try to conceal the marks the next day, but John knew he’d be back the next night, moaning for him again and again.  
  
But theirs was an equal partnership, and Paul made sure to give as good as he got.  
  
He was more than enthusiastic when it came to fucking him, no issues on that front. Paul, as sinfully erotic as he was, was a man of simple tastes. He loved to have sex, he loved romance, and he loved satisfying his partners. He was a sensual and eager lover, and it drove John absolutely stark raving mad.  
  
However, when it came to a bit of rough, Paul always seemed hesitant. He was desperate to have John in any way he could, and he loved to pin him down on any flat surface he could find and _really_ go at him, but he never initiated any of their games, no matter how many times John made it clear that he _liked_ them.  
  
John wanted Paul to be comfortable, he _did,_ but he also wanted Paul to tie him down to his bed and scratch his nails down his chest as he fucked him into the mattress. If Paul also wanted to pull his hair a bit and tease him until he was writhing with agony, well, who was John to stop him?  
  
So, he devised a plan. He didn’t know if it would work, he didn’t know if Paul would end up more angry than wanting, but he was desperate to try.  
  
John knew Paul liked to get to the studio well in advance, so he made sure to leave an hour early. The excitement travelled from his lower belly up towards his chest, and by the time he got to the studio, he was practically vibrating with anticipation.  
  
Just as he’d thought, Paul was already there, sat with his dark hair all mussed with sweat and the longer ends curled around his ears. His eyes were shuttered closed as he played, and his eyelashes were long and strikingly black against his skin. He was wearing a t-shirt that showed off his toned arms, and his dark moustache served to make him look especially burly and rough. John felt his pulse quicken and shut his eyes at the sensation, wanting to swallow Paul whole.

“Hullo, John.” Paul’s words broke through his subconscious and John couldn’t help but grin at the obvious affection in his voice.

“Hullo, Paul. Fancy seein’ you here.”

Paul grinned back and lowered his guitar onto his lap. “Fancy seein’ _you_ here, you mean.”

John waggled his eyebrows as he sauntered closer, brushing his fingers over Paul’s cheekbone and then lower still to trace along his jawline. Paul smiled up at him through his eyelashes and leant into the touch like a cat, humming quietly to himself as he enjoyed John’s early morning good-naturedness.

Little did he know what John had planned.

“Had a dream last night,” John spoke quietly as he cupped Paul’s cheek and gently stroked his thumb over its curve.  
  
“Oh yeah?” If Paul was confused by the sudden onslaught of affection he was currently receiving, he made no mention of it as he raised his arms to pull John closer by his waist, resting his chin against the waistband of John’s jeans once he was close enough. “What kind of dream?”  
  
John’s eyes darkened as he felt Paul’s fingers begin to idly rub circles on his hips and subconsciously pushed forward into the touch. “Mmm...you were there...touchin’ me...”  
  
Paul’s eyelids drooped into that sultry gaze he did so well and he gave a small hum of encouragement, but kept quiet otherwise. His eyes were still looking up, focused only on him.  
  
“Someone else was there, too...” John trailed off and bit back a small groan as Paul moved his hands lower and around to trail over his backside before teasingly moving back up to rest against the small of John’s back.  
  
“Oh?” Paul gave a dirty smile as he continued, “an’ who was the lucky lass joining us?” He punctuated the question with a wink, though his attention was now otherwise occupied with getting his hands underneath John’s shirt.  
  
John considered calling the entire plan off now, was desperate for Paul and wasn’t sure if he could handle a potential fight. But then the thought of Paul all angry and sweaty against him made his groin swell with renewed heat, and he knew he had to see it through.  
  
“It was - ah!” John’s voice stuttered as Paul suddenly stroked his fingers over the bare sides of his waist, distracting him as the tickling sensation made his whole body thrum with excitement. “Paul…”  
  
“Who was it, John?” Paul squeezed his sides and leaned in to press a gentle kiss against his stomach, the heat of his lips radiating through the fabric of John’s shirt. John felt weak, absolutely _weak_ , with arousal and couldn’t help but moan, resulting in one of Paul’s signature smirks. The cute one, my _arse_ , John thought. He was a fucking succubus.  
  
“Doesn’t matter anymore, Paulie, c’mere and give us a kiss.” John moved to lift Paul up by his underarms, but Paul kept his feet firmly planted on the floor.  
  
“No, Johnny, I want to know who she was. Ye can’t start a story and then not tell me what happens,” Paul tutted as he moved his hands back to curl around John’s hips, “‘s not polite.”  
  
John groaned with increasing frustration, cursing his inability to think his plans through before putting them into action. He couldn’t lie - Paul would know. He always knew. Their telepathic connection, though useful on stage and in song writing, was a fucking terror in reality.  
  
“ItwasStu,” John mumbled through the confession quickly and hoped that Paul would gloss over it, have a laugh maybe.  
  
Nothing was ever that simple for John, however, and he felt his heart physically sink when Paul’s hands suddenly disappeared from his body.  
  
“What?” Paul’s half-hooded eyes were now wide with confusion, swimming with the beginning vestiges of hurt and anger. _God,_ John remembered that look. He hadn’t seen it in a while.  
  
“Paul, look,” John reached his hand out to raise Paul’s chin upwards but his hand was quickly brushed away. Paul then stood up from his chair with an aggression that could have rivalled John’s own.  
  
“Why would you tell me that?” Paul’s voice was quiet but fierce, his fists clenched at his sides and his lovely, pink lips down-turned into a frown wholly unbecoming of him. John hated it and hated himself for causing it.  
  
“It’s not true, Paul,” John defended weakly, “it was a joke, ok?”  
  
“A joke?” Paul snorted in disbelief and rubbed at his forearms, sheltering himself away from John’s touch. “Right, ok. That’s fine, then. Y’know, so long as it was a _joke_.”  
  
John groaned with frustration, feeling his impatience with Paul and anger at himself getting the better of him. “Christ, Paul, I didn’t say it was a _good_ joke. I would’ve never said it if I knew ye’d get yer knickers in a twist like this. Yer acting like a bloody bird.”  
  
_Fuck._ What was he doing? Why couldn’t he keep his mouth shut?  
  
Paul nodded, a cruel smile on his lips as he rubbed his fingers over the ends of his moustache. When he raised his eyes back up to face John, he looked like a wounded animal ready to strike.  
  
“Right, well, ‘s a good thing you have _Stu_ now to keep you company in yer dreams. Maybe this time things’ll work out for you.”  
  
John felt as if someone had punched the oxygen out of him and his balance wavered. Paul _knew_ that Stu was still a touchy subject for him, a touchy subject for them both, and he couldn’t believe he’d stoop so low. He also couldn’t believe Paul’s animosity for Stu still ran as deep as it had back when he was still alive.  
  
“Fuck you,” John spat, turning around and shoving everything in his way onto the floor. “I don’t fucking need this.”  
  
Paul would have laughed at the wide-eyed look on Ringo’s face as John slammed open the door, revealing both him and George with their ears pressed against the door, but the anger and jealousy coursing through his veins didn’t allow for much levity.  
  
“Mum and Dad having another domestic, then?” Ringo joked as he slowly stepped inside, his smile sympathetic and kind.  
  
Paul gave a tight smile as he sat back down, grabbing the strap of his guitar before murmuring, “Mm something like that.”  
  
  
  
John was furious. He was furious and currently stalking off towards god knows where in whatever direction his feet would take him. He knew he had gone too far, knew he had fucked up irreparably, but wished that for _once_ Paul would stop taking him so fucking seriously.  
  
A voice at the back of his head reminded him that Paul usually did take his moods in stride and was actually quite adept at calming John down from the worst of them, but John’s insecurities raged on unabated. He didn’t know what he could possibly do to make things right. He didn’t care if all they ever did now was just make love and hold each other and whisper sweet-nothings as Paul made them some soppy breakfast-in-bed special, so long as he stopped looking at him like that.  
  
All those things sounded quite nice, actually, but only in moderation. God knows Paul would take any idea John showed the slightest enthusiasm in and ram it up to eleven. The thought made him smile; Paul’s ‘too-much’ gene.  
  
The guilt in his chest rose up like bile.  
  
John stopped walking as he realised what he had done. He hadn’t meant to make Paul feel insecure. He hadn’t meant to rush out of the studio like a _twat_ , leaving everything unresolved as usual.  
  
There was only one way to fix this, then. John sighed as he resolved himself to the idea of admitting fault and, with renewed intent, turned around and headed back in the direction of the studio.  
  
Paul barely looked up at the sound of the door opening, keeping his eyes studiously lowered as he played through a few chords.  
  
“He emerges,” George drawled from his corner, raising an unimpressed eyebrow as John shut the door behind himself.  
  
“Aye, needed some fresh air.” John mumbled sheepishly and walked over to his regular perch. He ignored George’s responding scoff and grabbed at his guitar, shifting the strap over his back and settling into position.  
  
“All right, lads! Let’s get on with it, shall we?”  
  
Paul, never one to let a spat get in the way of work, was the first to nod his agreement. He pointedly refused to address John by name or even look at him, but his playing was as on key as ever and his vocal-work even more so. Figures that even at his worst, Paul would be doing his best to remind John how little he needed him.  
  
By the end of the session, the little optimism John had mustered up had almost completely evaporated. The tension between them had ballooned into a fifth member; George and Ringo looking particularly uncomfortable when they had attempted to sing through “She’s Leaving Home” without sitting too close to one another. George Martin was especially frustrated with the lacklustre performance and insisted that they cut the session short and regroup the next day. Paul had put up a valiant fight against it, with John joining in on principle, but they were both outnumbered.  
  
“Sort it.” George had said impatiently and slammed the door behind himself. Ringo was slightly kinder with his words, but the message was there in his eyes - _sort it._  
  
_Bloody trying to_ , John thought, but he wasn’t sure exactly how. How does one apologise for mentioning an old best mate/secret one-time-lover in casual conversation with one’s current best mate/secret lover? It wasn’t as if he had cheated or somehow brought Stu back from the dead, but, judging from Paul’s cold shoulder, he may as well have.  
  
“Paul?” John finally approached when everyone had left, the hum of the overhead lights jarring in the silence of the studio.  
  
Paul said nothing as he continued to fiddle with various bits of equipment, pushing certain things backwards or forwards. A master of deflection, Paul was. They both were.  
  
“Paul?”  
  
“Oh, leave off, John.”  
  
Paul was a force of pure resentment as he brushed past to get to the coat rack, grabbing his muffler and twisting it around his neck as angrily and as inefficiently as possible. John felt his heart warm at the sight of him struggling like a stubborn child.  
  
“Paul, I’m sorry, all right?” John cringed inwardly at the words coming out from his lips and instantly wanted to take them back. He was half-way there when he caught sight of Paul’s shoulders stiffened with obvious shock. Swallowing his pride, John tried again.  
  
“I ‘aven’t thought of him in ages, Macca, really.”  
  
Paul turned around at that, a frown marring his features. “You can think about him all ye like, John. That’s not my problem.”  
  
John sighed, frustrated, “Then why’re you acting all stroppy? You know I didn’t mean anythin’ by it. You know what I think of you.”  
  
Paul’s eyes softened, but the guarded look remained. “Because you said it to hurt me, John.”  
  
John rolled his eyes. “I wasn’t trying to hurt you, Paul! I was just trying to get ye worked up and jealous, all right? If I knew you’d get all broody, I wouldn’t’ve done it in the first place.”  
  
Paul stared at him for a beat, his face blank. At John’s impatient sigh, Paul finally spoke. “You what?”  
  
“I said it to get you worked up,” John repeated quietly and stepped closer to play with the edges of Paul’s muffler. He smiled as he gave them a gentle tug, forcing Paul’s body to press against his own. “I wanted you.”  
  
Paul grumbled at the sudden close proximity between them but allowed himself to be held. He pressed his face into John’s chest, muffling his words somewhat as he replied, “You could’ve said, y’know. You didn’t have to bring _him_ into it.”  
  
John smiled at the dark head pressed against his chest and stroked the hairs at the nape of Paul’s neck. “Aye, well, ‘s not my strong suit. Anyway, I thought it would get you all aggressive-like.”  
  
Paul slowly raised his head and arched a single eyebrow.  “Aggressive-like?”  
  
“Yeah,” John nodded, pressing a chaste kiss onto Paul’s nose. “Yer perfect, Paulie, really. I just thought it would make ye hot for me. All burly an’ that.”  
  
Paul suddenly stepped out of his embrace and John was certain that this was it, that Paul wouldn’t forgive him and he’d have to go home with his tail between his legs like some spineless prick.  
  
But as usual, Paul, beautiful _lovely_ Paul, lived to catch John unawares any chance he got.  
  
“Burly, eh? Is it the tash?”  
  
“That and the fuckin’ forest on yer arms.”

“You’ve got one too, y’know.”

“Mm but I can’t fuck meself, now, can I?”  
  
Paul smirked and edged closer again, this time pressing his hips forward as he herded John against a table. “Y’ should see me lower-half then,” He whispered as he pressed a gentle kiss against John’s neck, “like a wild an’ woolly Irishman down there.”  
  
John groaned with renewed need and moved to press Paul’s hips closer. “Paul, please…”  
  
Paul chuckled as he pressed another kiss a bit higher-up, right on John’s Adam’s apple. John’s hands twitched with the need to hold him, grab him, _anything_.  
  
“John?” Paul practically purred it into his ear, his moustache tickling and making John shiver from the gust of moist heat.

“Yes, Paul?”  
  
Paul’s tongue slowly flicked out against his earlobe, his teeth biting down hard before switching to gentle nibbles. John gripped the table pushing into his back and dug his nails in, his eyes shuttering from the heat of Paul’s focused attention.  
  
Paul smiled at the feeling of John shaking against him and took pity, raising a hand to gently rub over John’s side. He leaned in again, making sure his lips caught against the shell of John’s ear as he whispered, “Come home with me.”  
  
John moaned quietly and pushed his hips forward again, harder than before, and relished the tiny hitch of breath as Paul struggled to maintain control. He slowly opened his eyes and raised his hand to gently push Paul’s bottom lip down with his thumb, enjoying the way Paul’s gaze darkened with lust.  
  
“What about Jane?” He whispered, hating the sound of her name in his mouth but knowing he had to ask.  
  
Paul stiffened at the mention of his girlfriend but quickly shook it off, pressing a kiss against John’s thumb. “She’s away.”  
  
John wanted to press further, ask why Paul seemed to be spending more and more time on his own, but thought better of it when he saw the hardness in Paul’s eyes. That meant the conversation was over, and Paul was nothing if not immovably stubborn.  
  
John leaned in to give a small kiss of his own, one of gentle apology and comfort, and whispered, “Take me home, Paulie.”  
  
  
  
Paul’s flat seemed impossibly tidy, as if he had only just moved in the day before. All of the dishes and crockery were in their place, tea towels neatly hanging on tiny hooks over the oven. The floors seemed spotless, too. No sign of Jane, he noted, except for the small compact mirror carelessly left open on top of the wardrobe in the main room. There were, however, little signs of Paul strewn about in random corners. Notebooks with lyrics scratched into them, packets of cigarettes on the table and, if his nose served him well, the distinct smell of pot emanating from somewhere in Paul’s study.  
  
“Do ye live here or is this where ye take all of yer anonymous fucks?”  
  
Paul raised an eyebrow as he helped John take his coat off, hanging it up next to his own. Turning around, he smiled knowingly at John before replying, “You’re not an anonymous fuck, though, are you John?”  
  
John’s heart gave an embarrassing flutter at Paul’s words, _how romantic,_ but he said nothing as he made his way through the flat. He looked around with vague interest as Paul twiddled with the knobs on the heating. He had been here many times before of course, but it was usually under cover of darkness. With Paul having flicked on all of the lights, however, John couldn’t help but notice things he’d never seen before. He slowly traced his fingers over the leather of Paul’s favourite armchair before walking over to the entrance of Paul’s study.  
  
Just as he was about to turn around and ask Paul whether he was done faffing about with the heating, he felt the sudden hard press of Paul’s chest pushing him against the door. His hips ground into him slowly and John shivered at the rough outline of Paul’s cock pressing urgently against his arse.  
  
“Why don’t you make yourself comfortable, love,” Paul murmured as he pressed a less than innocent kiss against the back of John’s neck. “I’ll only be another mo’.”  
  
John bit his lip at the coy tone in Paul’s voice, and found himself nodding almost automatically, unable to do anything else.  
  
Paul chuckled lowly as he stepped away, lightly pushing against the small of John’s back as he did so. Once John was safely herded inside, Paul padded back to the bedroom he shared with Jane, raising his voice so John could hear, “Just need t’ grab something.”  
  
John nodded again, more for himself than for Paul, and walked over to the bed Paul kept whenever Jane was away. Paul didn’t like to sleep alone most of the time but, even more than that, he hated sleeping alone in a bed that usually occupied two. John could understand the need to keep things separate, but he couldn’t stop the spike of jealousy that formed in his gut at the thought of Paul having a designated bed for his _legitimate_ partner. Did Paul ever fuck Jane in _their_ bed? Did he ever bring other birds here? The not-knowing made him sick.

  
In an attempt to distract himself, John circled the room. It was small, much smaller than the other rooms in the flat, but it was cosy. It smelled like Paul; washed linens, stewed tea, and the earthy smell of a joint lit not too long ago. John closed his eyes and willed his heartbeat to settle, immersing himself in the familiar scent of his favourite, hazel-eyed boy. It was no good getting this excited before Paul got back. Knowing him, it would only go straight to his head.  
  
Feeling anxious standing there like a lemon, John decided to go on a foraging mission for Paul’s stash. Following his nose, John traced his fingers over the desk drawer he knew contained a small box of rolling papers. Checking to make sure Paul wasn’t back yet, John slowly opened the drawer and peered inside. Spare notebooks and various pens were laid out before him, but instinct told him to go further. He smiled in triumph when his searching fingers not only found the rolling papers, but the entirety of Paul’s stash. Taking one of the two pre-rolled joints, John dug around in his back pocket for a light.  
  
  
  
Paul quietly shut the door behind himself, smiling amusedly at the sight before him. A completely supine John Lennon lay flat on Paul’s bed, his eyes closed with a lit joint held up in the air between two thin fingers. Tip-toeing closer, Paul couldn’t help but admire the zen on John’s face. His auburn hair was spread out over a pillow, making him look almost angelic, and his bony ankles were bare under the cuffs of his jeans.  
  
“Having a good kip, are we?” Paul murmured, slowly moving his hand to brush the hair off of John’s forehead.  
  
“Mmm, you were taking bloody ages,” John slurred as he pushed his head further up into the touch, enjoying the way Paul’s fingers would tighten in his hair before gently scratching his scalp.  
  
Paul smiled at John’s languid movements and indulged him for a few moments. It reminded him of the sleepy teenager he used to climb into bed with, auburn strands inevitably getting tangled around his fingers as they’d fall asleep curled around each other. The memory filled him with a longing he dared not indulge.  
  
Slowly disentangling himself, Paul moved to climb onto the bed, taking care not to shift the mattress too much.  
  
“Come to give us a kiss?” John spoke quietly, the corners of his lips upturned into an easy smile. His eyes stayed shut as Paul’s knees shifted closer to his side, and he let out a noise of happy surprise when Paul’s lips connected with his.  
  
“I have,” Paul confirmed, smiling as he lightly trailed his fingers down John’s chest. John shifted as Paul’s fingers came to a stop right above the waistband of his jeans, slowly lifting the hem of his shirt so that the trail of hair leading downwards was exposed. A rush of heat spread through his lower belly at the sight, and Paul couldn’t help but lean down and lick a stripe up to John’s navel.  
  
John opened his mouth in a silent moan and keened upwards, seeking the wet heat of Paul’s tongue. He whined as Paul’s hands firmly pushed him down, pinning him against the mattress.  
  
“Behave yourself, Johnny,” Paul warned, lightly raking his nails through the hairs on John’s flat stomach. “Good things only come to those who wait.”  
  
John grunted stubbornly as he tried to raise his hips once more, but Paul’s grip proved too strong for him in his subdued state. 

“Why don’t ye just tie me up?” John complained.

Paul chuckled as he continued to rake his fingers down through John’s pubic hair. “Because,” Paul spoke, slowing his hand to rest above the button of John’s jeans, “I want you to control yourself. I want you to do what I tell you, not because you’re tied up, but because I _told you to._ ”

John’s stomach muscles twitched at the authoritative tone and, not for the first time, John was reminded that Paul was a fucking sadist.

Suddenly, the pressure pushing against his hips lifted. John opened his eyes at the shift in weight only to find Paul leaning back on his haunches in front of him, his eyes dark and focused. John swallowed roughly at the sight of Paul leering at him, the weight of Paul’s feral gaze making him squirm.  
  
He was thus thoroughly distracted when Paul’s hands moved to his side, snatching the joint John had long ago forgotten.

“Oi!” He protested weakly, but his breath caught in his throat at the sight of Paul slowly holding the joint between his lips. John watched as Paul closed his eyes, moaning into a deep drag. John was mesmerised at the decadence with which Paul relished the toke and felt his cock harden as Paul climbed over his legs to fit himself perfectly on John’s lap.

“Jesus, Paul…” John moved his hands to grab at Paul’s waist, but Paul shook his head.

“You don’t get to touch until I say so.” Paul’s coquettish smile grew wider at the sound of John’s answering groan, and he raised the joint to his lips once more. Instead of exhaling after his initial drag, Paul quickly leaned down to press his lips against John’s. Coaxing John’s mouth open with his tongue, Paul let the smoke travel between them, raising his hand to bring John’s face closer to his own.

John’s breath stuttered at the intimate act, his toes curling at the combined pleasure of Paul’s mouth and circling hips. Just a few hours ago, he had been positive that he’d be going home by himself. Now, he had a lap full of McCartney doing his damned best to make sure John would never utter another man’s name again. As if he would.

Paul curled his tongue around John’s, expertly feeling out the ridges of his mouth. John moaned as their tongues slid against one another and moved to grip Paul closer, to feel the soft shape of him against his chest, but Paul swatted his hands out of the way.  
  
“John.” Paul’s voice was firm and no-nonsense, making it clear that the game would end if John disobeyed for much longer. John swallowed thickly and maintained eye contact, slowly moving his hands to grip at the mattress underneath him.  
  
“There’s a good lad,” Paul murmured and leaned in for another kiss. John responded almost immediately, opening his mouth to the teasing flicks of Paul’s tongue. As they kissed, John felt Paul’s fingers deftly working at his shirt. He groaned as Paul gave a particularly hard suck to his tongue, the pleasure going straight to his cock.

After a few minutes, Paul’s fingers emerged victorious as the buttons on John’s shirt finally came undone. Paul scratched his nails down the newly revealed skin, enjoying the answering shiver in John’s chest. He slowly raised himself back up, shifting his hips in John’s lap as he looked down at the sight before him.  
  
John’s lips were red and swollen, bruised where Paul had bitten them. His moustache was mussed from the friction of their kissing and Paul relished the physical proof of his claim. He rocked his hips down harder, crashing their lips together for another biting kiss, and sucked on John’s tongue in synchronisation with the movement of his hips.  
  
John sighed into Paul’s mouth and fought the urge to pull on his hair. He tried to catch his breath, tried to ground himself. As Paul stared down at him, watching John panting and all out of sorts, he smiled dirtily and ground down once more, sighing at the way John’s cock twitched underneath him.  
  
He couldn’t, he couldn’t fucking take it anymore. John stared up at Paul, whimpering, _begging, “_ Paulie, please, I need you.”

There was a glint of what John was _sure_ was evil in Paul’s eyes as he positioned himself lower on John’s body. “Yeah?” Paul moved to roughly grip John’s cock through his jeans, giving him a firm squeeze as he rasped, “Is this what you wanted?”

John couldn’t help but buck his hips up at the friction, yelping as the motion was met with the harsh smack of Paul’s palm against his inner thigh.

“Fuck!”  
  
“Only if yer good for me, Johnny.”  
  
John shook his head from side to side, the desperation clouding his brain making him feel delirious. He had one thought in his mind and one thought only - Paul. His entire world was reduced to this one sensual creature on his lap, this beautiful boy teasing him within an inch of his life. John desperately wished they could merge into one being; a two-headed monster called JohnAndPaul that wrote songs and played bass with the left hand and rhythm guitar with the right and always always slept in the same bed and everyone was fine with it.  
  
When John didn’t respond right away, Paul loosened his grip, concern etched onto his face. “John, d’you want me to stop? Am I going too far? I thought this was what you wan – ”  
  
John shook his head desperately, cutting Paul off as he croaked, “Don’t ye fucking dare.”  
  
Paul visibly relaxed and resumed the slow teasing motions above him. As he ground down, swivelling his hips in tortuously slow circles, Paul moved to slip the unbuttoned shirt completely off of John’s shoulders.  
  
His breath hitched at the sparse patches of hair on John’s chest, and he slowly moved his hands upwards to feel them underneath his fingertips. He stopped at the pebbled nubs of John’s nipples and flicked them lightly, watching them harden. John groaned as Paul continued to rub over them with practiced calloused fingers, and almost bucked Paul off the bed when he felt the first sharp press of teeth.

Paul latched on, sucking at the left nub whilst twisting the other between his fingers. He pulled upwards, biting down on the nipple caught between his teeth. John sounded inconsolable, almost sobbing as Paul switched places between the two, giving each nub his dutiful attention.  
  
“One day,” Paul growled as he lightly scratched his nails across John’s chest, “I’m going to make you come just by doin’ this.”  
  
John could feel his control slipping, could physically feel himself teetering on the precipice of hysteria. He wasn’t sure how much longer he would last, not with Paul’s voice all rough and fucked-out in his ear, whispering dirty promises and fantasies no one would ever believe of him.  
  
“Paul, for fuckssake, _please,_ ” John didn’t care how weak he sounded, didn’t care that he was completely at Paul’s mercy.  
  
Paul could feel John pressing up against him, his own cock almost painfully full against the zip of his trousers. He knew he wouldn’t last much longer and, considering he wasn’t the one being teased, he could only imagine how much pain John was in.  
  
“Shhh, love,” Paul murmured as he rubbed his hands soothingly down the sides of John’s torso, “I’ll take care of you, y’know I will.”  
  
“Please,” John repeated nonsensically, his brain processing nothing but the need pooling in his groin.  
  
Paul kept true to his word and made quick work of the jeans, lifting John’s long legs to rest over his waist as he helped shrug them off. Having managed that, Paul gave one last look at the image in front of him - John thoroughly debauched with his chest sweaty and heaving, his nipples pointed and wet from Paul’s mouth, and the outline of his cock pressing urgently against the front of his pants - before Paul tugged the rest of John’s clothes off.  
  
John moaned, high pitched and wanting, at the first touch of Paul’s hand against his dick. He whimpered, “Please, Paul, _fuck_ , need to touch you…”  
  
Paul nodded fervently, moving John’s hands to his hips. “Touch me, Johnny, I want ye to.”  
  
John felt a rush of heat, urgent and deep, at Paul’s words and wasted no time in obeying them. He unzipped Paul’s trousers with the urgency of a dying man clinging onto his last chance of survival, groaning as he finally, _finally_ , took hold of Paul’s cock.  
  
He eagerly grabbed hold of Paul’s hips and moved him closer to his face, relishing the masculine musk of sweat and arousal. He looked up at Paul through his eyelashes and felt a stabbing of longing at the sight of Paul’s eyes all hooded and sultry, his breathing coming out choppy from between his plush, parted lips.  
  
“Paul,” John moaned weakly. At the sight of Paul’s smile, tentative and reassuring, John felt desperation overtake him, and pressed his tongue against the thick vein running along the side of Paul’s cock. Paul hissed and bucked his hips up, his eyes fluttering shut as John sucked.  
  
“John, oh fuck, _John,”_ Paul panted and felt his hips impulsively thrust upwards at the press of John’s nose against his pelvis. At the sound of John doing his best not to gag, Paul stilled slightly, groaning as John’s spit pooled at the base of his cock.

“Fuck, Johnny, you’re so good, so good for me...” He tangled his fingers in John’s hair, pulling hard while John bobbed his head in time with Paul’s thrusts.  
  
“Oh god, stop...John stop…Johnny... _John you need to stop._ ”  
  
John moaned as he sucked Paul harder, enjoying the familiar bitter taste against his tongue. After pulling a few more moans out of him, John finally pulled off, pressing a reverent kiss against the head.  
  
Satisfied, John leant back against his pillow, dragging two fingers along his lips to gather the pre-cum that had settled there. Knowing Paul was watching, John made a show of slowly dipping the fingers into his mouth. He groaned as he sucked each finger individually, canting his hips upwards to press up against Paul’s arse.  
  
“Fuck me, Paul,” He gasped as he ran his saliva-wet fingers over his nipples, loving the way Paul’s eyes ignited at the action.  
  
“Oh fuck, Johnny...” Paul leaned down to roughly capture John’s mouth with his, their spit intermingling as Paul pinned John’s thin wrists against the headboard. John squirmed happily under Paul’s hold and bucked his hips up, gasping when Paul ground down at the same time.

“Off, take it off,” John commanded and pushed Paul’s t-shirt up his chest, groaning when Paul quickly pulled it over his head.  
  
Paul’s chest was littered with dark hair, curling around his chest and trailing down towards where his trousers had been haphazardly pulled open. His cock rested heavily against his thigh, full and wet amidst the dark hairs surrounding it.  
  
“Christ...” John bit his lip in awe, “yer a bloody wet dream.”  
  
Paul smiled shyly, _shyly after what they’d done_ , and shifted to pull the trousers lower over his thighs. He lifted himself off of John’s lap and swung his legs over the bed, quickly pulling the trousers off the rest of the way. Finally naked, Paul smiled as he delicately manoeuvred himself back onto the bed, this time coming to rest in front of John’s knees. He lightly tapped on his kneecaps, urging John to spread his legs so that he could rest between them.  
  
John moaned softly and immediately hooked his legs around Paul’s hips, pulling him in tighter. Paul looked down at him with nothing but fondness in his eyes, and he leant down to press a quick kiss against John’s aquiline nose.  
  
John rolled his eyes and sighed, “Paul, you’re supposed to be ravishing me.”  
  
Paul raised an eyebrow and expertly pressed a finger to the underside of John’s cock, teasing at John’s opening with another. At the sound of John’s abrupt gasp and stream of curses, Paul smirked, “I can multi-task, can’t I?”  
  
“Multi-task with your prick, then, you _fucking tease._ ”  
  
Paul chuckled and reached over to grab the bottle he left on the nightstand. Uncapping it, Paul squeezed the contents of the bottle onto his fingers.  
  
He looked down at John as he prepared himself, his gaze settling on the place where John was wet, dark, and wanting.  
  
Quiet settled as Paul slid the first well-lubricated finger past John’s entrance. John moaned quietly as Paul pushed up to his knuckle. He bore his hips down as Paul thrusted the finger in deeper and John whined when the friction wasn’t enough.  
  
“Paul, yer not gonna hurt me by bein’ rough,” John snapped impatiently, “you’ve got half the bottle on yer hand and the rest on yer cock. Could you _please_ just move? _”  
  
_ Paul rolled his eyes but finally relented, pushing two fingers deep inside John’s arse. John’s groan of pleasure seemed to travel all the way from his toes to the peaks of his nipples, his breath coming out shaky as Paul adopted a relentless thrusting motion that rubbed up against his prostate.  
  
“Fuck,” Paul moaned as he fit in a third finger, twisting and scissoring in John’s tight heat. “Fuck, Johnny, you’re so _tight_.”  
  
“Yeah?” John panted, “‘ve been dreaming of ye doing this all fucking day.”  
  
Paul growled and quickly removed his fingers, grabbing hold of his cock and positioning it at John’s entrance. He hesitated slightly, looking down to make sure John was really okay, before pushing in. His eyes shuttered closed as he moved in deeper, biting his lip from the tightness surrounding him.  
  
“Oh Paul,” John moaned, and Paul rewarded him with another hard thrust, pushing John’s legs further back so that he could watch himself disappearing inside him. His hips began to spur forward more frequently and harshly, and Paul groaned at the dirty sounds of skin slapping against skin.  
  
“Paul, _fuck_ ,” John moved to keep a loose hold on Paul’s hips so he could feel the vibrations as Paul fucked into him.  
  
Paul pressed into John more urgently, reaching down to tweak John’s nipples as he pushed against his prostate. At John’s wall-rattling scream, Paul leaned down and licked into his mouth, desperately seeking John’s tongue. John could feel his balls tightening with his impending release and moaned into Paul’s mouth. He moved to tug himself off, but his hand was quickly pinned down.  
  
“Wha – Paul,” John struggled confusedly but Paul was stronger and gripped him tighter.  
  
“You can’t come until I say,” Paul punctuated the command with a deep thrust, John moaning weakly as his hips stuttered forward. “I want you desperate and writhing for me.” Paul leaned down to bite at John’s earlobe, eliciting a sharp gasp as he whispered, “I want you to forget everyone you’ve ever had before me.”  
  
Paul kept John’s hands pressed against the headboard as he began to relentlessly pound into him, feeling John digging his heels into his back. He watched as John’s cock, all flushed and wet, bounced against his stomach with every push, and he got a sick thrill of pleasure at the knowledge that it was all for _him._  
  
“Oh Christ,” Paul groaned nonsensically and moved to stroke John’s cock, “god, yeah.”  
  
John thrust his hips up into the loose hold and groaned when Paul would tighten his fist for a fraction of a second before pulling off. John was positive that Paul wanted to kill him.  
  
“ _Paul,”_ he almost screamed with frustration as Paul pulled off again, Paul smirking at the way John’s hips instinctively followed his touch.  
  
“What’s that, John?” Paul asked casually as he slowed his hips down, relishing the way John’s groans of frustration grew louder.  
  
“Paul, please, you’re the only one,” John begged as he desperately ground down onto Paul’s cock. “It’s always been you, no one has ever fuckin’ come close.”  
  
Paul felt his stomach jump at the confession. He wasn’t really expecting one, had only said what he did because he knew it was what John wanted to hear, but god if it didn’t make something deep within him positively ache with need.  
  
He growled as he resumed his movements, possessiveness now clouding every single rational thought.  
  
“Fuck, Johnny,” Paul moaned out as he finally picked up speed once more, “it’s always been you for me, too.”  
  
John let out a whine as Paul gripped his cock and began tugging him off, thrusting harder with every twist and pull.  
  
“Come for me, baby,” Paul panted as he moved his hand faster, “Come for me, now.”  
  
At Paul’s command, John’s back arched off the mattress and he let out a sharp cry. His eyes were tightly shut as his orgasm came in waves and hot rivulets, his brain reduced to mush. He continued to push his hips down to meet Paul’s thrusts, moaning weakly to spur Paul on even as his cock twitched from the overexertion.  
  
Paul came soon after, shutting his eyes as he pressed himself flush against John’s arse, filling him and holding him until his muscles gave out.  
  
Minutes passed before either one said anything. The otherwise silent room was filled with the sounds of their breathing and the noises of the outside world could do nothing to infiltrate it.  
  
John finally moved to run his fingers through the dark locks of Paul’s hair, pulling at them softly.  
  
“Mmm,” Paul moaned quietly and buried his face in the crook of John’s neck. John smiled as he continued his strokes, using his other hand to brush down Paul’s bare skin.  
  
Paul chuckled quietly as John’s hands came to rest over the swell of his arse. “Haven’t had enough yet, eh?”  
  
John smiled as he leaned in to kiss Paul’s neck, muttering, “Never.”  
  
Then, administering a firm squeeze as an afterthought, John pitched his voice lower as he whispered, “’sides, can’t help meself, can I? Yer arse is enormous.”  
  
Paul removed his face from John’s neck at that, swatting at him in mock offense. “How dare you? After everything I’ve done for you?”  
  
“Aye, well, fair enough. Next time ye fuck me like that again, I’ll take it back.”  
  
“Maybe you can find someone with a smaller arse, instead.”  
  
John frowned at the comment and looked down at Paul, but Paul had buried his face away once more.  
  
Sighing, John tugged at Paul’s hair so that he’d look up at him. When Paul’s wide eyes reluctantly met his own, he felt his heart melt with affection.  
  
“Maybe,” John finally replied and tightened his grip when he felt Paul stiffen against him, “but I wouldn’t want ‘em.”  
  
Paul raised an eyebrow as John leaned in and slowly coaxed his mouth open with a series of kisses, enjoying the soft moans as Paul relented. They kissed lazily for a few minutes before John moved away to stroke along Paul’s bottom lip.  
  
“I want you, Paulie,” John whispered as he pressed a kiss to the corner of Paul’s mouth, “big fuckin’ arse an’ all.”  
  
John grinned as Paul let out a sharp laugh and hugged the warm body against his own. In an hour or so, Paul would get up and make them both a cuppa (because he never could stay still for too long, no matter how _adventurous_ the shagging had been) and John would complain that Paul was too eager and they’d bicker and everything would be as it should be.  
  
John grabbed the edge of the comforter and draped it over their bodies, finally feeling a deep-seated satisfaction overtake him.

**Author's Note:**

> I can't end a smut fic without some fluff at the end, much like Paul McCartney can't write a suggestive poem without ending it on something overly sentimental (and boy do we love him for it.) Anyway, I hope this was enjoyable some of you and if you DID enjoy it, please consider letting me know because I am a ball of insecurity always.


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